


amora obscura

by BL4CKB377Y, quietdown



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, CIA, Canon Jewish Character, Character Reimagining, College AU, Cowboys, Dissociation, Divorce, Dom Original Character, Dom/sub, Eastern Europe, Emotional Instability, Extreme Math, Found Family, LGBT rights, M/M, MIT, Medicine, Middle East, Multi, Mutant Rights, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sub Erik Lehnsherr, Teacher/Student, Time Travel, World War II, collaborative, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BL4CKB377Y/pseuds/BL4CKB377Y, https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietdown/pseuds/quietdown
Summary: A closeted mutant, Brandt Grayson quit his lucrative job as the chief of medicine at Boston Memorial Hospital for a cushy teaching gig at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, pioneering their biomedical engineering course-of which one apparently-baseline Erik Lehnsherr has decided to take a minor. Things go a little sideways from there.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Brandt Grayson, Erik Lehnsherr/Original Male Character, Erik Lehnsherr/Sebastian Shaw, Magda Maximoff/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. And what do you remember most?

**Author's Note:**

> [i](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGGACynh37k). a pin-light bent, joanna newsom  
> [ii](http://www.uh.edu/engines/pinholeprinciple.jpg). from the latin _camera obscura_  
> [iii](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIJF74pMsEA&list=PLz1t-2BejJRnBV90tnSPIv5nXmd3a4CDy&index=1). you'll kneel you'll kneel the cold steel

_But the sky, over the ocean! And the ocean, skirting the city! And the city, bright as a garden (when the garden woke to meet me)_ , is what his notebook says when Erik looks down at it, shaking himself out of a reverie only G-d himself could fathom.

They're in class; Sif is the most obvious mutant in the room and gets a brickload of wariness from her compatriots as a result. Almost rebelliously, Erik plops himself right down into the chair next to her, eyebrows raised in a friendly greeting, hazel-flecked eyes hooked up to hers in a way not much different to how everyone else on Earth looks at her-

Except Lehnsherr isn't ogling her, he's mostly just impressed that there's someone in this room taller than him, and it makes him regard her with an amused grin. "So I take it you were always picked first in gym class," he huffs (dazzling first impression, hotshot) drawing some more doodles around the impromptu poetry winding its way down the spirals of his notebook instead of paying attention to Professor McCoy's lecture on...-he finally actually darts his gaze down to the chalkboard this motherfucker is writing on-Coulomb's law.

Unfortunately, he's caught dead in his tracks. "And Mr. Lehnsherr, who seems to have his head stuck up somewhere quite gruesome-" a few titters at that; Hank McCoy was not known to be a hardass, per se, and he was never cruel, but he didn't let people slip up, either. "Would you care to share with us the scalar form of Coulomb's law?"

Well Joanna Newsom wasn't going to help him, now. _from that height was a honeycomb/made of light from those funny homes, intersected-_ as usual, his brain wasn't cooperating, but his mouth managed to recite in a bored monotone: "The scalar form is _F equals ke multiplied by q1 and q2 over r2; where ke is the constant, over the charges and the distance between the charges_ -oh, cool, I knew that one." Erik grins wildly, immensely proud of himself, as a buddy behind him slaps him on the back and McCoy looks terribly put out.

His fluffy, furry eyebrows raise pointedly. "Intelligence isn't everything, young man. If it were, I'd be in the Bahamas right now." He offers a wink to the collective. "Electromagnetics is a constant shift. At any moment, anything could change. That means you need to be aware, at all times, of what's going on around you. Not fawning over the misadventures of Paul Bowles in Tangier." Erik promptly closes his binder over the thin novel he'd had propped up. "Everyone in this room is intelligent. What qualitates that intelligence is wisdom. Wisdom is where you put it, and that is how you will pass or fail this semester. Now, everyone, please turn to page 78 and observe figure 9.5."

It's one of only a handful of classes any of the Freshman have attended this season, and already Erik's workload is piling on and piling on. By the time he leaves, along with everyone else, both arms are stacked from hip to chin with dusty tomes. Goodbye, Joanna Newsom, he grieves his lost notebook, but he's got more important things on his mind right now. Like who was waiting for him in his dorm room when he got back, and Dr. Grayson's first Introduction to Biomedical Engineering class.

Falling into step beside Sif, he throws his head back to wind away some of the floppy, dark curls strewn about his temple. "Well, at least you nailed the _show everyone how the vector-form is calculated in front of the entire class_ portion of today's fresh hell," he offers, mostly joking. Aside from his poor attendance and regular attention-deficit derived misdemeanors, he's already gaining a reputation as somewhat of a nerd, despite consecutively earning spots on the _Tae Kwon Do_ and paintball teams.

Lehnsherr just genuinely likes his field of study, if only he could concentrate long enough to turn in an assignment. "You want any help with that?" he asks, eyeing her stack of books as if he could actually offer assistance, which he absolutely cannot unless his latent mutation is balancing shit perfectly off of his head-spoiler alert, it's not.

You can't discount male chivalry, no matter how many inches you got on the guy.

Her backpack had torn under the weight of her books, because they were so light to her, she sometimes did not realize how much they in fact actually weighed, hence, her bag had split right down the seam. No one had stopped to help her pick them up, though she was used to being ignored, or scolded by her peers, it was nothing new. Did not mean their cutting remarks as they passed hurt any less. So now she was carrying all of her books back to her dorm. They weren't heavy, just very awkward. "The lesson is not hard to learn if you can pay attention," she remarked, afraid Erik was only here to make fun of her like everyone else, but then he'd offered to help and she stopped to give him an appraising look.

"Oh, Jesus-" Erik blinks as her bag rips right in front of him, lashes fluttering rapidly as he abruptly abandons his armful of crap probably about to also spill over right onto the ground in order to lurch forward and haphazardly begin grabbing her belongings, offering them to her one-by-one. "Hey, I pay attention!" he laughs, good-natured. "I pay attention to lots of shit. It's the shit I pay attention to that's the problem." He sticks his tongue out. "I'd offer a hand but I'm afraid between the two of us we're maxxed out of limbs," his nose twitches toward the books of his own that he'd kicked over into something resembling a _pile._

"I'm Erik. And you're tall," he adds, bluntly, as if she doesn't know. "Like, let's just get that out of the way, so I don't keep obsessing about how awesomely fucking tall you are? Like," he clicks his tongue. "I mean, _I'm_ tall. Fucking wonderful," he grins brightly at her, no trace of condescension whatsoever in his tone. And I mean none, at all. He looks positively awed. "Sorry-uh, yeah, I probably shouldn't say every single thought that pops into my head, probably?" he hands her a book, and with both sleeves rolled up she can detect a comic-styled yellow marigold sprawled over his left inner wrist.

She takes the offered book with a _thank you._ Her head tilts as she gazes at the tattoo a bit wistfully. She'd tried to get a tattoo once but the needle couldn't penetrate her skin. She had ended up having to pay the parlor damages. "I prefer you say every thought in your head than hate me in silence." She was very well aware of how tall she was. _Very. well. aware._ "You have, uh, what is the word? Attention deficit?" She equally had no judgment just wanted to clarify her suspicions.

"I may or may not but definitely probably maybe do," Erik shoots her a finger gun as nimbly as he can with an armful of books. So... yes, is the answer. And sex is not the question- _shut up, brain! Why can't it be my turn to take over the world, tonight?_ OK, stop that. Erik imagines himself rapping his own brain on the hand like a stern teacher with a ruler. "And usually I'm better than this but it's just-uh-" he scratches the back of his neck. " _One of thoze dayz_ , as the great philosophers Limp Bizkit once proclaimed. So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you by blatantly obvious physical characteristics? _Brown-Eye-Girl? Amazing-Cheekbones-Lady? Bag-Ripping-Priestess?_ "

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly at all the descriptions. "Sif," She says simply as she holds out her very large hand for him to shake. Her palms are calloused but still soft. "I have, as they say, anger management issues... according to my counselor."

"Oh brother," Erik snorts, giving her hand a firm shake, giddy at the fact that his own hand practically disappeared into hers. Seriously, this chick was straight out of a fucking comic book; and he really had to stop thinking that way because he knows it's objectifying and fetishistic and other _social justice warrior-y_ words he uses on a daily basis but come on, _what???_ What is he even supposed to do with this? Nothing, the correct answer is nothing at all, bucko. The words are sympathetic, though, not nervous.

"I've been there. Actually," he clicks his tongue again and laughs. So far, he doesn't seem to mean any harm, other than being the resident collegiate _Manic Pixie Dream Guy_ no one asked for. "Those classes just pissed me off? Like, I'm not talking _ha, ha, that's my catchy bumper-sticker_ style pissed off, like-for _realzies_. I've literally never met a more condescending bunch of little fuck nuggets than those guys at the Beth telling me _hey, have you ever tried just not getting mad?_ Wow, thanks, I'm cured now, I'll write about it in my feelings journal!" he throws his hand up in a big, exaggerated shrug.

Sif's mouth scrunched to the side in a sort of half smirk as she listened to him rage about some of the very same things she usually felt. The thing was Sif was normally, by nature, very pleasant, caring, nurturing, and almost whimsical. She loved nature and animals, and had an affinity for both. She was a regular Disney Princess most of the time. Part of her biological mutation, however, included what her brother had called her _berserker rage_. She didn't get mad or angry often, but when she did she could be incredibly dangerous and volatile, especially with her superhuman strength coming into play. So, yeah, anger management issues, which was why she tried to maintain a pretty carefree spirit and did not let others words get to her easily. Her only real trigger was when someone tried physically hurting her or someone she cared about. Bullies picking on others weaker than themselves. She had a very _pick on someone your own size_ mentality.

She wanted to comment, to join in his venting, but her abilities and mutation was not something she usually talked about to strangers so openly. Even if they were as charming, and adorable as Erik. "Have you tried gardening?" she asked instead, a playful twinkle in her eye. That was her personal preference over that bullshit feelings journal.

To his credit, Erik seemed to grasp her internal machinations well enough, rolling with the punches away from the personal. "Oh, G-d, no. I'm a veritable black thumb. Just ask my sister. She still hasn't forgiven me for killing her Mother-in-Law's Tongue. She's _worse_ than her mother-in-law!" he quips, smirking. "Where are you headed, anyway? 'Least I can do is give you a hand. Or a foot. Or an eyeball. This is a serious amount of books, right? Dad was like, _oh, you gotta become a doctor_ -do I though? Do I really? I'm thinking of making a go of it as a fry cook, a la Odd Thomas."

"You'd probably burn the place down in a day or two when you forget to turn off the fryer." She teased. She was headed towards the dorms. "I need to study and work on my paper."

" _Who can say_ if that's better or worse than leaving the whole ass fryer inside some poor _shmuck_ ," Erik huffs. "So-library, then?" his eyebrows raise, though, and he's eyeing someone behind her who's rushing up, looking frazzled and honestly even more disjointed than Erik, if that were possible.

She shrugged and kind of shook her head at the same time. "I do not like the stares and the whispering," she admitted a bit sheepishly. There was a reason she had so many books _with_ her.

"I'm gonna-" Erik starts off, but whatever he's gonna do is interrupted by said hectic individual only seconds later.

"Terribly sorry to bother you, miss, but I'm afraid we have some rather abrupt news," the guy just smiles awkwardly up at her; and since he's the only normal dude here it becomes fairly obvious that Erik isn't diminutive by any definition of the word, either. "You see, your dormitory is one of the few in your residence hall that is actively accessible from the ground floor, so we've had to shuffle you into Baker Hall-I've got the details here-" he pats down his own pockets and pulls out a card. Student living was relatively sparse, with as many as four people living in one unit, so other than the things she would have packed to come with her there were no requirements for heavy lifting. Still, it'd be an adjustment. "Anyway, all the best!" he adds, flouncing off before she can, like, kill him.

The card reveals a room number on the third floor.

She usually stayed on the ground floor because otherwise she got nothing but complaints about noise just from her walking from her bed to the toilet. She had an abnormally heavy gait. Sif kind of just stares at the card in her hands, not really commenting or responding to the small man as she tries to wrap her head around what just happened.

Erik tsks a little too loudly, eyebrows raised. "So," he tries, awkwardly. "The good news is," he points two thumbs at his own chest. "Best roommate ever. _Eyyy._ OK, I can tell I'm getting exhausting-" his head ducks sheepishly. Time to put the Serious Hat on. "But, uh, for real, that's my dorm number, so we're probably-I mean-are you OK?" he asks after shooing the guy off.

She nods. "I'm fine, just... I mean I hadn't requested the ground floor for myself. I don't mind moving, I just don't look forward to all the downstairs complaints."

Erik winces. "Yeah, I can-" you know, see how that would be a problem, he doesn't say. Tactfully. For once. He scratches the back of his neck, looking anxiously over at Baker Hall's towering brick formation in the distance. "We'll handle it," he promises firmly. It's not very eloquent, but it says a lot more than he intends-which is that he intends to do his best to make their living area a safe space. Speaking of which-

"Listen, I've got to run-Grayson's wanted to meet with me after his class and I'm pretty much already ten minutes late-" and he'll be even later, but he doesn't go into specifics. "But, listen, you go study, and after I'm done we can move your stuff into the dorms?" his eyebrows raise, hopeful.

Sif nodded. "Grayson is nice, but also strict. I like him... good luck."

She ended up moving everything in while Erik was gone. She just wanted to rip off the band-aid. No sense prolonging it.


	2. The line of the sea, seceding the coast?

Grayson was in the office that was just a separate room off of his classroom/lecture hall. He had a pair of buddy holly like readers propped on his nose as he read something on his computer.

Erik's knock on the door is two-fingered, and he slides in a few moments later, offering a sheepish smile. "Sorry I'm late. They just threw a girl out of her room and moved her into mine, and then she dropped all these books, so I had to stop and help her-I mean, hi." He dips his head as formally as he can. "I'm Lehnsherr, you wanted to speak with me?"

Brandt had a special needs brother so this wasn't new to him. A part of him even found Erik's little verbal diarrhea rather endearing. Brandt gave Erik a winsome smile and removed his readers as he sat back. "That was very kind of you," Brandt praised then indicated the seat across from his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Something buzzes underneath his skin, like Erik can feel himself being scrutinized, the urge to straighten up pulsing momentarily before he shrugs it off and casually strews himself across the indicated chair. He's been through this song and dance more times than he can count, but there's a reason he's at Cambridge and not wiling away the time in a hospital day room. Smart doesn't cover it. The only problem is, Dr. McCoy said it best. Smart _ass_ might end his career before it starts. He somehow knows enough not to actively antagonize the faculty, though. He did make it through ADCOM. "Just doing my part," he presses his lips together, resisting the urge to make some quippy remark. "For the record, you don't really need to worry about me in your class. I'll handle my issues." He said, so confidently, and so incorrectly.

"Fair enough... but seeing as we're keeping a record now, your issues are not something I was worried about. I have no doubts you can- _handle_ yourself Mr. Lehnsherr." The spark of mischief in his eyes and the playful lilt of his smile made it difficult to know if Brandt was implying something less than scrupulous with that last bit. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here, but here you are..."

Erik's eyes widen marginally at that, before his impulsiveness finally gets the better of him and he smirks right back. "So you just invited me up to your office for what, high tea? I do like cucumber sandwiches." It takes, literally, every ounce of Erik's self control not to add _if you know what I mean_ to the end of that sentence, but the tick of his eyebrow probably says it for him.

Brandt's smile is pleased and he rocks in his chair slightly as he crosses his legs. "Never been much of a tea drinker, but I'll remember the cucumber sandwiches for next time." He clicked his pen a couple times before leaning forward once again, uncrossing his legs. "No, I invited you here to present you with a potential opportunity that may or may not interest you."

Brandt reached for a white folder and slid it across his desk to Erik. The front had the logo for the _Grayson Foundation_ and inside detailed some sort of contest of Innovation in Medical sciences and engineering. "I normally don't offer this to Freshmen, but... I think you may be one of the rare few who could handle the additional workload and stress on top of your regular classload... that is, if you'd be at all interested in getting the leg up on most of your peers?"

Flipping open the folder, Erik peruses it idly, all the while Brandt can see his mind going a million miles a minute as he absorbs and processes with lightning speed. It's a blunt instrument, rarely precise, but when he narrows the beam to a pindrop that laser focus could melt steel. Brandt's seen it before, in his brother. In, frankly, many of the students who end up here, in the real world they're the weirdos and freaks, but here, everything is illuminated. "So it's like a science fair. Groovy. OK, yeah. I can probably whip something up. So you're looking for tools in diagnostics, how will you know if they're effective? What's the scoring table like?"

That was honestly one of the reasons Brandt believed Erik would be a perfect candidate, and it would hopefully give him something to focus on. "We'll be testing them, of course, on myself and a few lucky volunteers. The score is calculated on three tiers. Construction, Function, and Distribution. Ya know how it was made, does it actually work, and is it something that can be realistically developed for use in the real world."

Something in the way Erik's nose twitches lets Brandt know that he's got it, or at least an idea. What he's planned on. "So no, like, crazy superpowered technology," he interprets wryly. Lehnsherr's file, of course, lists him as baseline, but it also lists him as the chapter head for the Mutant-Baseline Alliance in Baker Hall, so he's being flippant, but not derogatory. "And what about on patients? I mean, real patients. I mean, you get a volunteer, you get yourself, you know what's wrong. That's not a fair contest. You want to really innovate, you need people who need a diagnosis."

Brandt nodded, giving Erik a smile, like he knows something Erik doesn't. "That is the idea yes, but the patients we'll be diagnosing will still be Volunteers. Only their actual doctors will know their medical history."

"Neato," Erik shoots him a finger gun. "All right, I'm in." He's gazing at Brandt curiously, eyes bright. "What's the prize? You know. For incentive." He gives a wink. Erik's mostly a thrill-of-the-creation kind of guy, but he can't resist an opportunity to get under someone's skin.

"Me," he can't help but tease. Hey, if Erik was gonna flirt with him to try to get under his skin, Brandt could at least show him that wasn't gonna work on him because he could do it right back. "It's an all expenses paid summer internship abroad with my team and me... very lucrative."

It makes Erik blink again, like he can't quite believe that he's getting as far as he is with a professor no-less. "Then I'll just have to win."

"Win or lose, I look forward to seeing what you can come up with... I do offer one hour of mentoring once a week to every candidate you just have to reserve the time with me in advance."

"Oh, _do I_ , hot-shot?"

"Only if you feel you could use me..." Again, it is not abundantly clear if Brandt intends the double entendre or if Erik is just taking it that way. "Do you have any questions?"

Honestly, it's probably Erik's affection-starved brain, let's be real. He carefully does not actively proposition the professor and risk getting thrown out due to academic misconduct, but Brandt is nearly attractive enough to make him risk it. But that's a risk he just can't-and he shakes it off, his head ticking a little as though blowing away a fly. Not the time, not the place. His eyes have fixed on a far-point on the wall. It's a nice fantasy. "Uh," he blinks. "No, no questions. Thank you, sir."

Oh, no. Did Brandt break him? He hopes not. "Well, my door is always open if you do... and I hope you know I'm not gonna treat you any differently than the other students in my class. You'll be held to the same standards and accountability." Because unlike others, Brandt didn't believe ADHD was a handicap. Alex was proof of that.

"I'm _pretty sure_ that's illegal," Erik points out, eyes wide again. "I'm not stupid, sir, and I'll do my best. But-" Erik flexes his fingers against his jeans. But if he's thrown into the deep end and left to swim he'll wind up starting 70 assignments at once and finishing none of them.

"Oh, hey, no I didn't mean to imply I won't help you or give you necessary resources and accommodations. I suppose, I just mean, I expect you to use the extra resources and time provided. I know some teachers see ADHD and think hopeless." He shook his head. "That's not me. One of the best, most talented, most intelligent, and most successful people I know has ADHD... like him, I want you to succeed."

Erik stares at him for a while, all of a sudden finding it difficult to breathe. "Oh. Sure, yeah, OK. Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, OK. OK, well, coolio. Cool cool cool cool cool." Kill him now.

Brandt knows that reaction all too well. Usually, at least in Alex's case it meant a panic or anxiety attack was imminent. "Hey," Brandt says as he reaches across to touch the back of Erik's wrist. "Relax, darlin'... try to breathe for me, OK? Think you can do that?" Brandt circles his fingers gently around that wrist, equal parts grounding and trying to feel for his pulse.

"Huh?" Erik wonders why he feels like an egg frying on the sidewalk. Maybe his brain is yellow. The reaction doesn't make sense, or rather, it's come in response to something that Brandt doesn't understand, no veritable cause-and-effect. His pupils are wildly dilated, pulse racing. Brandt's touch against his wrist is warm, or maybe he's warm, or-and his mind is split between trillions of particles-"Oh, sure. I'm a great breather."

Uh oh. Brandt actually gets up and walks around to him, dropping to one knee and placing his open palm on Erik's chest, then mirroring it by holding Erik's palm against his own chest. "Look at me, Erik..." He encourages Erik's eyes to stay locked on his, holding the man's gaze. "Good... now, feel my heart beating..." He stays holding Erik's hand to his chest with his own. "Focus on my breathing... try to match me, OK?" The actions are confident, practiced, experienced. This isn't the first time Brandt's had to calm someone down from a panic attack.

It's that experience which allows Brandt to recognize anything is happening at all, truly. Erik's expression is distant and vacant, but could easily be explained by distractability, reservedness or lack of paying attention. Something many people already clearly attribute to him. Brandt's moving, and Erik's only vaguely watching him, eyes slowly tracking as he does. "'Kay," he mumbles, offering a half-hearted smile. "You have four fillings... huh."

"Yeah," he says, amused, smiling a bit crookedly. "You can tell that from here, huh?" It's encouraging, at least. His heart beat is still erratic, and Brandt continues trying to help him calm down. "What else can you tell from just a look, darlin'?"

Erik takes in a slow breath, and gradually he actually locks eyes with Brandt, his own lips quirking up more sincerely. "You have a freckle on your nose," he huffs, and _boops_ Brandt right on the nose. Super professional, buddy.

It's working. "That one's easy, I have freckles everywhere. What else?"

Erik's head tilts, and he frowns, thoughtful. He somehow doubts his observation that Brandt has nice eyes would be welcome, given their respective positions, but something else sticks out at him, twigging the back of his mind. "You've got three screws in your ankle," he finally states, more curious than anything, as if it's totally normal that he knows that.

Brandt's eyes were distinguishable because his left eye was hazel brown, and his right was a little more green. It was like they were two different colors almost. The remark about his ankle makes him blink in mild surprise. "That's right..." He broke his ankle hiking. He also had another pin in his hip from being thrown from a horse when he was a boy, and he had a prosthetic heart... "What else?" He asks, a little more quietly, afraid to break whatever trance they'd fallen into.

Erik's hand smooths out across Brandt's chest where he'd placed it, eyes fluttering shut. "What happened?" he wonders, and somehow it's evident that he knows what he's feeling beneath his fingers is prosthetic. "-can I ask?" he adds, recognizing that often times he can blurt things out rather tactlessly.

And Brandt knows he knows... He doesn't know how Erik, knows, but he does and for whatever reason it doesn't make Brandt as nervous and cautious as it normally does when he's afraid people will find out. It's not like he's showing off the scar that stretched the entire length of his sternum. "You can ask," he nods and his thumb brushes the back of Erik's hand. "I was-very sick as a child, and I mean-very sick. I have an incredibly rare congenital disorder. Every test showed my body rejecting every transplant they had. No donor ever matched... my parents didn't know what to do, they tried everything... then a doctor came, said he had an experimental treatment that could help me... and it did..." It had expedited Brandt's dormant X-gene evolution, which the doctor had hoped would heal his heart, but it was too weak and he wouldn't have survived the process if not for the piece of cutting edge technology now resting comfortably in his chest.

He was a healer and an earth-elemental by nature and was immune to almost every illness and disease now.

Erik nods along, at least this time for all intents and purposes paying attention, the scattered particles of his mind at-last coalescing. "None of this is organic," he replies, eyebrows raised in shock as the sensations move through his fingertips. "That's incredible. I mean, it's-that's shit, what happened. I'm sorry." He huffs and shakes his head. "Sorry, I have a bad habit of saying every thought that pops into my head."

Brandt can feel that sensation like a flutter or a palpitation in his heartbeat. At Erik's apology though, he shakes his head. "You don't ever have to apologize for speaking your mind around me, OK?"

Erik's eyes are still locked on his, a dark brown with streaks of gold making them hazel in the light, to Brandt's flashing heterochromia. There's nothing particularly unique about Erik's appearance; he's got thick curly hair that winds around his nape, thick eyebrows, a prominent nose and in his opinion, dull brown eyes. But Brandt is like something out of a movie, someone who's walked off the comic strip into reality, and he's hard-pressed to stop staring like an idiot. He takes in another shuddering breath. "OK," he manages to croak back, his hand still on Brandt's chest, where he can feel the firm muscle beneath. He shouldn't be thinking like this. It isn't right. It won't end well. Not for him. But his stupid brain. He can't help it. "But I am-" sorry. He didn't mean to-wander off. Like that. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Brandt is equally surprised by his body and his mind's reaction. Attraction. Intrigue. Such things were hard to quell. Erik was obviously a baseline if not possessing some kind of actual power or gift. The moment they had found themselves in like a cocoon of comfort and warmth, was something Brandt was hesitant to break but the position they were in was highly compromising... So, with reluctance, Brandt cleared his throat, popping that bubble. "You're welcome, Erik... are you-good?"

Swallowing roughly, Erik nods a few times. "Yeah," he huffs, lips quirking up. "Yeah, I'm good. I should get going. Thank you for the opportunity," he adds, flicking the folder as he rises from the chair, Brandt following suit. "You said you offer tutoring-?" he adds, eyebrows raising thoughtfully.

Brandt nods. "I do. You can find my hours and sign up from my blackboard." As in the college website for online homework and everything.

"Perfect. I'll see you then, sunshine," Erik gives him a finger-gun, terribly exaggerated, and a wink before picking up his backpack and books and heading out.


	3. Fine capillaries, glowing with cars?

College life is hectic, but as it turns out, Brandt sees Erik again first thing in the morning as a student in the front row of one of his 101 lectures. He doesn't do or say anything untoward, just tips his chin up in recognition and offers a smile before going back to chatting with Sif.

Brandt is pleased to see him front and center, and flashes him a brief, secret smile before proceeding with his lecture and lesson as planned.

It's incredibly easy to see that Erik does not need help in any way with tutoring, once the lesson gets underway. He's nowhere near a teacher's pet, but the few times he is called upon to give an answer, it's without hesitation and surprisingly thorough for someone who seems like he'd lose his head if it weren't attached. It just so happens that the first tutoring session is scheduled for directly after class, so it doesn't take any time at all for Erik to saunter into his office, backpack hanging off of one shoulder, all crooked grins-for him to call him out on it.

Erik's sporting a large bruise over his left temple, that's yellowing and ugly, and he rakes his fingers down his hair to hide it. "So, what's on the agenda today, hot-shot?" he slides into the chair opposite Brandt.

Brandt removes his readers, leans back in his plush leather chair, and steeples his fingers together. "It's your hour, Mr. Lehnsherr. You tell me. How can I help you with your studies?" Brandt is a natural healer. He can sense pain and hurt just as much as Erik seemed to be able to sense the metal and things in his body. He knows the bruise is there despite Erik's attempts to hide it.

Erik doesn't seem to notice that Brandt notices, oblivious as per his typical nature. He lifts up a notepad that has a myriad of diagrams and questions and equations scrawled messily over it, favoring his right shoulder rather significantly as he adjusts his piles of data. "So, all that, pretty much," he laughs.

Brandt tilts his head, eyes going to that shoulder, and his concern magnifies ten fold. Brandt stretches his senses out, performing a psychic medical scan of sorts, trying to assess the extent of Erik's hurt. "Are you by chance a member of the local boxing club, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik flushes deeply, turning away as if that will prevent Brandt from detecting anything further about him, idly rubbing at his shoulder as he drops himself into the seat next to his bookbag. "I just-I-ah-" he blinks a few times, rapid; as if he simply isn't accustomed to anyone noticing at all. "I just got into a scuffle," he huffs, offering what he hopes is a charming grin.

"A scuffle... hm..." Brandt studies him for a moment. "Remember yesterday how just by touch you could sense every inorganic piece of-medical biotech inside my body?"

Erik's head tilts. "I don't know about all that," he laughs. "I just guessed." He scratches his neck, shifting a little with what Brandt can perceive is a good deal of pain. His shoulder isn't just tweaked, it's dislocated.

Was he that much in denial, or simply did not believe? "Well, whether it was just a lucky guess or-something more... perhaps you'll understand when I say that I know your shoulder is dislocated... and you have a concussion..."

"Oh," is what Erik says, brilliantly. "I guess I hit the pavement harder than I thought. Remind me not to pick a fight with three footballers again," he gives Brandt a wink. Anyone else might leave it at that, but it's Brandt's mutation and more than that his years of clinical experience that suggest Erik is more tense and wary than he's letting on. "Anyway, so, what about all this-?" he jerks his chin to the notepads and suppresses a hiss at the thoughtless motion.

Brandt did a long stint at a free clinic in Hell's Kitchen. Seen more than his fair share of broken collarbones, jaw fractures, broken eye sockets, broken wrists... Heard more than his fair share of excuses too. _I'm so clumsy.... I tripped on the sidewalk... I slipped on the ice..._ "Erik," he says, dropping the formality of the _Mr. Lehnsherr_ part, hoping to add a bit of familiarity. He doesn't know what to say after that though... Brandt holds out his hand palm up. "Will you give me your hand, please?"

He goes to lift his right hand and barely avoids making an embarrassing noise-he hadn't been to get this thing fixed, either, has just been wandering around with his shoulder out of its socket or more likely he'd tried to pop it back in himself and failed. He switches to the left and puts it into Brandt's curiously, still under the illusion that everything is fine. "I'm OK," he assures softly. "But thank you. You're sweet." He means that without any condescension.

Almost the moment his hand touches down in Brandt's the pain he'd been feeling is just gone. Drained out of him as if some wonder anesthetic or painkiller was just injected into his veins. He's not healing him, just absorbing his pain, taking it into himself.

It makes Erik gasp in surprise, and slink down in his chair a bit as the tension slowly drains from his body. It's clear from what Brandt perceives that the obvious isn't the only injury; Erik's pain is bone deep, aching joints and tender muscles throughout. In addition, Brandt can sense some unusual immunities in Erik; typhus, for one, a disease all-but eradicated in North America-and an odd metabolic disturbance, not enough to be significant, but reminiscent of the acute stages of hypophosphataemia he's treated in rehabilitation.

"Are you-?" his eyebrows lift, fascinated, completely unaware of Brandt's capabilities.

His brow furrows deeply in concern as he takes all that pain away. "Holy shit, Erik..." This pain, the injuries... they were severe... someone had really done a fucking number on him... No minor scuffle could have done that... Brandt is suddenly angry. "Who?" he asks, gritting through the pain himself.

He blinks rapidly, his breathing shallow all of a sudden. "Um, what? No-I mean, nothing-I mean-hey, are you OK?" He whispers. Did Brandt take it from him? Can he feel it? Unacceptable. He can't do that. No one should-"Give it back," he states firmly. "It's mine. I want it back."

Brandt grits his teeth and reluctantly releases Erik's hand. The pain slowly filters back into Erik with the loss of skin contact. Brandt sighs softly and grits his teeth. "Erik..."

Erik inhales slowly as it fills him up, those lines of tension returning to his face. "Please leave it alone," he murmurs, his voice so soft it doesn't even sound like the Erik Brandt knows.

Brandt's eyes develop a glassy, watery sheen. He exhales hotly, shakes his head once, then grits his teeth. "At least-let me reset your shoulder?"

At that, Erik's smile turns somewhat genuine, creasing at his eyes instead of the hollow reflexiveness of earlier. "That would be appreciated," he replies, still-soft.

He stood up, and moved around to take Erik's bad arm. "This is gonna hurt a little before it feels better, so.." He maneuvers it into a position where he can adjust it back into place. "On the count of three?" He waits for Erik's nod before he starts to count. "One... two..." and he effortlessly adjusts the bone back into its socket with a jolt of pain and a grinding snap, but then relief. "Three..."

Erik lets out an _oomph_ of pain, but it's far less than what Brandt has observed in other patients with similar injuries, his gaze glassy-eyed and far-off, but when it's done he rubs at his shoulder, grateful as those stabs of agony slowly begin their slogged-off retreat. "There, good for the practice, huh? Can't let those medical skills get rusty." It's a tired joke.

That's another mystery Brandt never really talks about, to anyone, and was a topic of much debate and discussion among some of his students: why did Dr. Grayson leave his very prominent and respected career as a chief of medicine to teach biomedical engineering to a bunch of nerdy co-eds? Suppose the world may never know. Brandt smiles at the joke regardless, and moves to lean on his desk, ankles crossed, and he picks up the notebook. "Well... your thoughts are obviously a little-disorganized... we can start there... maybe get your notes in better order?"

"I'd like that," Erik says, flicking the pages of one notebook open to reveal a veritable disaster of numbers and letters crammed together in-between diagrams of utter nonsense, to an outsider.

He shifts awkwardly, attempting to pull the strings of his mind back to the topic at hand instead of blurring out reality, zoning it all down into a pinpoint of light; watching the light of the sun as it makes its way slowly across the windowpanes... he breathes out slowly.

They're in the middle of the third notebook when he peeks up, fingers resting on his temple as the aching throb of that looming migraine grows ever closer, stomach roiling with nausea. He's more scattered than usual, making mistakes he normally wouldn't be making, taking longer to catch on. By that, of course, he's catching on at a normal speed. To Brandt, who grew up with Alex, the difference is acute.

"Hey," Erik slurs after a bit, struggling to fix his eyes on Brandt. "How 'cm you're so nice to me?"

Brandt notices. His desire to heal that hurt is almost overwhelming, his fingers twitch and yearn to touch him, to absorb Erik's wounds, but he has nothing here to siphon it off into. "I'm just trying to help," Brandt answers that question, watching Erik intently for signs he may be about to pass out or vomit; searching his pupils for unusual dilation. "Maybe, what you should really be asking yourself is what kind of company are you keeping, that someone expressing normal human decency seems uncommonly nice, hm?" It's not an intentional dig, but someone beat the shit out of Erik and Brandt was still pretty upset about that.

Unfortunately it seems pretty well lost on Erik, whose eyes are nearly comically dilated and who doesn't quite seem to be on this planet. "Iz'ok," he whispers sadly and then lurched forward to puke on Brandt's shoes. "Oh no."

God. Had Erik been sick before and someone had gotten mad at him for it? Jesus! Brandt's expression is soft, tender, concerned, but caring. "No, Erik. Of course, I'm not angry... do you want something for your head, or nausea?"

Erik reaches up then and slowly touches Brandt's face with two fingers, a dreamy movement born out of what Brandt can only figure is a true concussion. "This is nice," he murmurs with a smile.

"All right, buddy boy. Come on." Brandt lifts Erik's arm over his shoulders and helps the younger man to stand, slowly. "We're gonna take a gentle stroll outside."

Erik winces at the pain shooting up his shoulder, dwarfing Brandt a little as they stand, like a big, giant, baby octopus. "Stroll?" he sways, leaning heavily against him. He's completely abandoned the bag of books and notes behind without another word, trusting Brandt easily.

"Yeah, darlin'. Just a little stroll outside, and everything will feel better soon, I promise." Brandt smiles politely at anyone who acknowledges or looks at them as they pass, cool and casual as if this were completely normal. Once they were outside, Brandt guides them to a small grassy area with some bushes and trees that's kind of out of the way of the main courtyard. "Do you trust me?" Brandt asks as he leans Erik against the trunk of a tall and sturdy tree.

Erik nods, once, a riotous whirl of thoughts zooming in and out of his mind that don't quite make it to his face. " _Ich vertraue dir,_ " he mumbles.

"Is that German?" Brandt asks as he raises his hand to touch the side of Erik's face, his fingers pushing into his hair slightly. His other arm then lifts to brace his palm on the tree beside Erik's head. "Take a deep breath for me," he encourages, breathing with him.

Erik grins a little, and obeys with a soft, audible inhale. The language centers of his brain are a little muddled, and his answer comes in a confusing garble. He touches Brandt's bottom lip curiously, entirely oblivious to the fact that it's inappropriate, or that Brandt wouldn't be caught dead engaging in such activities with him in his current state. "Deep breath," he laughs.

Deep down, Brandt knows what this is going to look like to others, what Erik may be translating it to in his mind, but if it helps him relax and let Brandt help him, then it was a small, but necessary evil. "Just like that, sweetheart," he whispers as his fingertips touch a few pressure points below his ear, his jaw, his temple... that same feeling from before comes over him, like someone had just injected morphine directly into his veins. Brandt closes his eyes, and sighs, mouth falling open slightly, and his pulse quickening as he absorbs all that pain and hurt into himself, and focuses on siphoning it off into the tree, into the earth where it can resolve naturally.

Connected to every nerve ending and vein in Erik's body, he finds every new hurt that can be healed, and his power fills Erik up as all those new injuries are healed up and taken away. Brandt can't do much about the old ones that have long healed, but he does what he cans. It feels like it takes an age, but in reality barely a few moments pass before Brandt is satisfied that he's done all he can and so his power recedes from Erik's body back into himself. With a heavy sigh, he drops his hand to Erik's now healed shoulder, and his face drops as he focuses on pushing the last bit of hurt through his palm into the base of the old tree.

As more of Brandt's powers siphon off his injuries into the earth, Erik's face gradually clears until it becomes obvious just how concussed he really was, and he blanches a little, setting his hand on Brandt's shoulder in an effort to help speed up the process. "Usually I deal with it for much longer," he murmurs, shaking his head a bit. "Are you in pain?"

Brandt shakes his head, and smiles but it is slightly strained. "It's not so much pain as it is... uncomfortable?" if he were just absorbing it and not passing it into the earth, yes there would be pain, but like this, when he was just acting as a conduit... well, he didn't know how to describe it. "It's-I imagine it's like osmosis and I'm the filter... if that makes any sense?"

"Good," Erik replies, because that's his most immediate concern. Erik doesn't want him to feel the pain of those injuries. Not especially because he knows-he presses his lips together. If he'd had the presence of mind-he touches his temple, expecting to wince, but it feels completely-"You have a beautiful gift," he whispers, and Brandt can see true fear striking behind his eyes, just a moment, a pang before fading into nothing.

Brandt has his own fears and anxieties in that moment too. He'd just revealed something heavily incriminating to Erik. Something that could cost him his job, even if legally they weren't allowed to discriminate mutants, they still did. His own anxieties, combined with that brief moment of fear flashing behind Erik's eyes, is enough to sober Brandt right up. He drops his hand away from Erik, and the tree, and takes a few steps back, shaking out his arms, and his hands, squeezing them open and closed as he does. He's sort of staring at his hands. "If-word of this gets out, Erik..." He would be ruined... again...

Erik blinks at him, looking completely confused, now. The fear is utterly erased, replaced by concern. "Brandt. I'm not going to-" he huffs a laugh. "Hey," he takes a step forward and touches Brandt's arm, and then his hand. "I'm not going to say anything. I think you should be proud of it, but how you handle it is your business. I promise." He does his best to catch Brandt's gaze, doing his best to project sincerity.

Brandt is proud of it. Proud of what he can do... but he has his own history of pain and hurt here, buried deep... "I'm sorry, just... the last person I trusted-" he swallows hard and his hand instinctively squeezes Erik's and his jaw ticks as he grits his teeth.

"-was an asshole," Erik fills in with a dorky smile. "Trust isn't so easy for me, either. But I trusted you. I hope you can do the same. I meant what I said." That his gift was beautiful, that Erik was fascinated by it, that he still remembers the shiver of it as it passed through his body. He doesn't elaborate. Mutants have enough problems without worrying if Erik Lehnsherr is getting off on them. (He's not, but-well- _look_. Have you seen Brandt? Come on.)  
  
"Hey, uh, do you maybe want to-?" it falls out of his mouth before he can think better of it. "Um, do you eat? Or drink? Food? Water? I hear those are good."

Despite the circumstances, Brandt laughs. He then raises a hand to rub the back of his head. "Yeah. I eat. Probably more than the average person, actually." He had a ridiculously high metabolism, what with all the superhuman abilities and all.

"I know a place off-campus," Erik supplies hopefully. "They serve killer sandwiches. If you-" he gestures between them. "You know. In the interest of fostering trust."

Brandt nods. "Yeah. Let me get my wallet and uh-clean up my office real quick then we can-" he clicks his tongue against his teeth and hitches his thumb over his shoulder. "I can meet you if you wanna-get cleaned up a little yourself, first?"

"That works," Erik laughs. "I'll text you the address." He rocks back on his heels and gives Brandt a little wave, before swiveling and disappearing into the throng of students exiting out of McMahon's physics course; just as whirlwind as ever.


	4. The comfort you drew from the light of the stars?

The cafe turns out to be low-key, about a five-minute drive once Brandt pulls out of the parking lot, and appears more-or-less as an upscale version of _Starbucks_. Sleek lines mixed with antique decorations and glass, and an outdoor patio with paper lanterns hanging from the deck.

Brandt's wearing jeans and a dark Henley with a flannel shirt hanging open over that. He's wearing an actual cowboy hat that from the look of it isn't just for show. It actually shows wear from use the way a cowboy hat is supposed to. Brandt removes it as he looks around for Erik. 

-who is wearing pretty much the same thing he was just wearing, except it's not covered in sweat and vomit. Hot. He bounds up to the cafe a few minutes after Brandt, drawing his hand through his hair and grinning when he sees him. It's wet from the shower, though soon baking in the start-of-autumn heat. " _Nice_ hat," he laughs, and snatches it from the table to place it on his own head, throwing his arms out and darting from side-to-side in a little dance.

Shall he tell Erik what it means when one takes a cowman's hat and puts it on their own head, or leave that little tidbit to himself? "Looks better on you," Brandt says with a smile. He'll keep that little tidbit to himself for now.

"Darn' tootin'," Erik drawls back, sliding into the seat across from Brandt. "There's no waiters or anything so just let me know what you'd like and I'll grab it for you. I guess it's supposed to be performative-say what you will, they make a _brilliant_ blonde roast."

"I submit to your expertise then, and trust your judgment. I'll have whatever you're having."

"You _better_ ," Erik laughs and hops over to the glass-encased wall of treats, speaking briefly with the barista who makes eyes at him; though he doesn't seem particularly _aware_ of this. Their order is ready fast, to-go cups with their names scrawled on (hearts dot the _i_ of course) and Erik returns brandishing two blonde roasts, black for himself and with a few creamer containers for Brandt should he wish them, and a slice of plain cheesecake for Brandt. "You can't go wrong," he grins.

Brandt picks up Erik's cup then turns and shows him the little hearts around his name and dotting his I. "Someone has a crush on you, methinks."

Erik snorts. "Oh, shut up. She's just happy someone remembered her first name."

Brandt's smirk is teasing, playful, knowing. "All right. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart." He takes a sip of his coffee without adding anything. "You sharing this with me?" He asks as he reaches for the small plastic container with the cheesecake inside. "Otherwise, it'll go straight to my thighs."

Erik reaches up and adjusts Brandt's hat on his own head. "Concerned about your figure, huh?" he grabs the fork he brought over with him and pokes it into the cheesecake. "Well. In the interest of diplomacy and all that. I _told_ you their coffee was excellent, didn't I? Life is better when you assume I'm right all the time."

Brandt reaches up and flicks the brim of his hat on Erik's head. "You did tell me... Now should I tell you what it means down south when you take a cowman's hat?" His eyes are practically glittering with mischief.

"Judging by that look on your face-" Erik's grin is positively _shit-eating_. He folds his hands underneath his chin. "Why don't you illuminate it for me. Just so I have no doubts at all."

"Taking a cowman's hat usually entails a promise or intention of removing the rest of his clothes later." Brandt really shouldn't be entertaining these flirtations with a student, but Erik is addicting and he makes Brandt feel a little carefree. There's also this inherent instinct to just want to take care of him that Brandt can't seem to shake. It's been only a couple days since the semester started but Erik had already burrowed his way under Brandt's skin.

"Oh, good. I was hoping for that. As opposed to, like, a _promise or intention to read Shakespeare standing on one's head._ " His nose wrinkles, amused. "And what about a cowboy who _lets_ someone take his hat?" his eyebrows arch mischievously.

Brandt's grin turns a little sly, a little crooked. "Well, down south I'd say it means the man's amenable to that outcome."

Erik laughs again, popping the fork into his mouth. "Well in that case, I'd better _keep_ the hat."

"But it has sentimental value," Brandt says before he picks up a fork and takes a bite of the cheesecake for himswlf. 

That makes Erik's eyes crinkle up, fond. "Did you grow up on a farm? Lassoing cows and all?" 

"I did actually, yeah..." Is Erik seeing things or is Brandt blushing slightly? "What about you? 

"Oh, you couldn't tell? Brooklyn, baby. Through and through. So, the opposite of a farm, unless you count _human_ zoo." 

Brandt chuckles and gives Erik a fond smile. "This concrete jungle is rather zoo-like." 

A young brown haired woman shows up a few moments later wearing a cafe styled uniform. She offers them both a smile and Erik grins up at her. "Hey, Moira." 

"I see you have company," she laughs. 

"This is Brandt. Oh, this is Moira. She's a coffee genius." 

Brandt waves and tips his cup at her. "I can tell. Y'all make a decent cup o' joe."

Moira gives him a wink, tucking her straight dark hair behind her ear. "Erik's been a regular since he moved out here. How's Dr. Shaw doing?" she tilts her head, regarding him thoughtfully. 

Brandt is familiar with Shaw; the German professor of genetics in the biology department and known for his incredible work in the field of genetic engineering. As well as for being particularly challenging on his students, accepting nothing less than their absolute best in everything they present. 

Erik's lips press together. "He's well, thank you. We might stop by later on," he pastes on a smile. 

"Well, I hope you and your friend enjoy the service, and please let me know if you need anything else. Consider this _cup o' joe_ on the house."

Brandt had heard of Dr. Shaw, but not all good things, though it was mostly rumours and things he didn't know the man that well on a personal level. He wondered what the extent of that scenario was that this Moira was familiar with the both of them coming here together. "Well, ain't you sweet as pie, Mo," Brandt lifted his cup to her and took a sip. "She seems nice," he directed at Erik.

"She is," Erik pats him on the arm and returns to his coffee to take a long, almost pointed sip. "She's always been really great to me. Free stuff!"

"Look at you with all the friends in high places, huh?" Brandt's smirk is teasing.

"I like to think of it as _high in friend places_." Erik shoots him another finger gun and then winces. "Eh, I guess I shouldn't say that to my professor, huh?"

Brandt chuckles, grin bright. "Why not? Afraid I'll narc on you?"

" _Narc_ on me? What is this, 1978?"

That gets a laugh out of him. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Oh, always. Lay it on me, Cow Man."

He leans in close to whisper. "I may or may not grow a couple bushes at my house."

"You _rebel_. Hang on, just-hold on." Erik fishes out his phone. "911? Yeah, this is-"

Brandt rolls his eyes, takes out his wallet pulls a card from inside and places it in front of Erik. It's a medical grower's card with Brandt's picture on it. "But, no you go ahead and finish pranking the police." He didn't believe Erik was actually calling the police though, nice try.

Erik grins widely and puts his phone away. "Cute picture, though. I'm _digging_ the 'stache. Got a real George Mendez vibe going on there."

"You think so?" Brandt takes the ID back and rubs his chin a little. "I've been thinking of growing it back out actually."

"I am 100% in favor of this," Erik laughs, but it's gentle, not malicious. In truth, he actually touched the ID photograph, fingers lingering over Brandt's face unintentionally before Brandt takes it back. "It's rugged. Very Cow Man."

"Who's George Mendez?" He asks curiously.

Erik covers his mouth, shoulders shaking. "You've never seen Orange is the New Black? You know, good old Pornstache."

Good thing he doesn't eat or drink anything at the moment cause he definitely would have choked on it or spit it out. "Pornstache?" He asks with a laugh and a bit of a blush.

"Literally adorable," Erik beams down at him, and plunges his fork into the cheesecake after glancing to Moira, who gives him a thumbs-up from behind the counter. "All righty, let's test this bad boy out." He pops it into his mouth and his nose wrinkles up, amused. "You gotta try this." Instead of letting Brandt do it himself, Erik carefully cuts another slice and offers up the fork to him.

Brandt already had, he'd taken the first bite earlier when he was explaining to Erik what it means to take a cowboy's hat. He eyes Erik and the fork and struggles internally with himself for a moment before he leans forward and eats the bite off Erik's fork. "It's really good... my banana cream pie is better."

Listen, Erik may or may not have already known that. "No shit? You bake? Well, seeing as how I haven't sampled this particular delicacy, I'm going to have to say the cheesecake holds the number one spot. So if you really wanna knock it off, I'm gonna need some scientific proof, my friend."

Brandt's grin widens and he's chuckling again. "Well, I guess I'll have to bake you a pie then."

"Now that's what I'm talking about."

"You have a favorite?"

"Mmmm, honestly I'm not much of a sweet person. I can tolerate like a molecule of sugar before it's gotta go. I like apple pie without the apples, though." Erik's brows bounce playfully. It's one of the reasons why their cheesecake is literally original with nothing on it.

"Well, reckon I could always make you somethin' savory like chicken pot pie."

"Oh, yeah? What's in that? I don't think I've ever had one."

"Chicken, carrots, corn, greenbeans, and a homemade broth gravy."

"I am definitely sold," Erik laughs. "I can cook, but baking is another thing entirely. The last time I tried I ended up making, like, a wet sponge."

"I'm sure it was the best wet sponge ever, though." His smile was playful, teasing.

"It wasn't," Erik snorts. "It really, really wasn't. You'll have to teach me some of those mad skillz. On the other hand, I can out-eat just about anybody." He forks some more cheesecake for emphasis. "Like, national champion, over here."

"I'm gonna need some scientific proof," Brand teased.

"Just keep the gravy train coming and you'll have all the proof you could possibly need," Erik smiles, mostly following Brandt's movements with his eyes unconsciously. He holds out some hope that he's given the impression that he can at the very least be trusted with this-he also knows exactly how much that's worth in the grand scheme of things. Your best friend, your neighbor, your spouse. You don't really know them until you know them, so how it seems is largely irrelevant.

Brandt took a lot of things on faith most days. This was apparently one of them. He trusted his gut on a lot of things and it didn't usually steer him wrong. He may not understand it fully, this inexplicable attraction and trust, but he trusted Erik wouldn't do him a dirty. "I'll hold ya to that."

"All right, so tell me something else. You always dream of teaching?"

"Not at first no." He shrugs his shoulders. "I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer."

"What? Seriously? We're you any good?"

He nods. "I was actually on the team until I dislocated my shoulder on a cattle run. My arm was just never the same after."

"You couldn't-" Erik grimaces and gestures. "Heal yourself?"

Brandt nodded. "I can't heal myself, unfortunately, so my own healing is human slow. I am impervious to all illness and disease, but I can still be hurt. Killed even... I would just heal from it eventually. Though, I'd probably be buried in the ground before they realized I was just in healing stasis. Anyway... my shoulder healed but now it just has a tendency to pop out of place on its own sometimes. Happened during a meet. Put me in last place and out for the tournament. Sort of, lost my scholarship and my slot on the team after that."

Erik winces sympathetically. "I can kind of understand, at least a little. I used to run a lot, not professionally or anything. Not even on track, just something I did. My knee got fucked to hell and I lost that," he laughs, though, not particularly bitter. "I'm sorry that happened to you. But at least you can see my charming smiling face every day, now." He fans himself dramatically.

"Well, thank heavens for that," he says with a smirk. "The small blessings, huh?"

"I'd like to think I'm a _big_ blessing," Erik smirks, and then covers his mouth, laughing. "Okay, that was bad."

Brandt just rolls his eyes. "Really, Lehnsherr? You went there?" He was playing though, he wasn't really upset or annoyed, just teasing.

"Oh, come on. That was classic. I'm practically Casanova."

"Casanova was an asshole," he said with a smirk. "You're not an asshole."

"Maybe you've charmed me into complacency. I've disavowed my asshole ways."

The bell at the end of the store behind Brandt's shoulder jingles and Erik looks up, eyes wide as saucers like a deer in headlights. 

He looks absolutely trapped between his seat and the table, his hands gripping hard at the wooden inset their dishes are resting on. A blond-headed, ice-eyed gentleman steps inside, gazing unfeelingly around the room until he lands upon Erik, and he approaches them without regard. "Dr. Grayson. Mr. Lehnsherr. Pleasure to see you both here." 

Erik grimaces. "I was just leaving." 

"Please. Enjoy your lunch. I am merely here for a refreshment." He walks unceremoniously past them and up to the counter, making polite smalltalk with the barista. Moira, busy at the menu station, looks over at Erik sympathetically and gives a little shrug. Brandt recognizes him, of course-it's difficult not to. Sebastian Shaw, in his perfectly tailored outfits and polished shoes, could make an impression any day of the week. 

"G-dfucking _shit_ fuck. I'm sorry, Brandt. I have to go. I'm sorry," he almost stammers, but does his best to reel it in and play it cool. "Motherfucker. _Zayin besechel verdammt kurwa!_ " he curses in about three different languages at once, jamming his palm into his eyes. It didn't take a rocket scientist to assume Erik figured himself royally _fucked_. 

There's nothing to do for it as he scrambles to his feet and struggles to get himself moving through the front door.


End file.
